This was all planned. They wanted him thinking about the Third Task, but lead him to thinking he had knowledge that could be used to bring down a dark lord.
And Dumbledore felt the excruciating pain of memories being ripped from his mind. With the multiple attacks, all coming at his memories from different directions, he had no chance of trying to stop them. He also had no chance of figuring out exactly what memories they were pulling form his mind.
As soon as the attack ended he only had a bare moment before he was stunned unconscious.
As he sat in the chair, slumped forward, Scimitar said, "He expects that Potter was kidnapped during the Task. He knows of a ritual that can give Riddle a body back and it requires the blood of an enemy."
"Hence, Potter," said Croaker.
"His memories also confirm that Grindelwald isn't dead," said another. "He's locked in the highest point of Grindelwald's own prison, Nurmengard on the Baltic coast of Poland. Dumbledore occasionally visits him, trying to redeem him."
"The ritual," said Croaker. "Does Dumbledore know what it is, exactly?"
"Yes," replied Scimitar. "However, I was unable to get that out of him in the few moments I had. He also believes it is what Riddle will use."
Croaker nodded and said, "Then we shall play on that."
"Wake him?" asked one of the Legilimencers when Croaker went quiet for a moment.
Croaker flicked his eyes to the man before he finally gave a single nod.
When the old man was enervated, he groaned for a moment before he finally looked up. Still with a massive headache he asked, "Was that really necessary, Algernon?"
"A reminder," said Croaker. "You were starting to be a 'bossy boots' again and needed the reminder you are not in control here."
Before Dumbledore could say another word, Croaker forged on and asked, "Now, again, tell me how you defeated Grindelwald."
"I'm sure you had that information pulled from my mind," replied Dumbledore. "And I still say it's of no consequence."
Croaker said, "How... did you... defeat... Grindelwald?"
The old man sighed and replied, "Simply put, power. I asked old Armando... Dippet... when he was Headmaster to install a power tap in the wards to feed me power so I could take Gellert on. That, together with the boost from Fawkes, was barely enough for me to defeat him."
"Why lock him up in Nurmengard?" asked Croaker. "Surely, you had to suspect the man would know of any escape tunnels or bolt holes in the place. Why not Azkaban?"
"I... thought it was fitting," replied Dumbledore.
"And, why didn't you have the power tap on Hogwarts removed, once you defeated the man?"
"It never occurred to me―" When his vision turned to a red haze, again, Dumbledore immediately and quickly said, "I thought I might need it again." And the red haze faded away again.
"So, you didn't employ any secret magics?"
"No."
"Did you use a... ritual?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and he asked, "A ritual?"
"Yes, Albus. A ritual," replied Croaker. "Did you employ a ritual? You weren't a young man, Albus. You were in your sixties. Did you employ a ritual to give you back the strength of your younger self?"
"No," he replied. "I would not do such a thing."
"What about R- Grindelwald?" pressed Croaker.
The 'slip' was deliberate, as was the pressing for information on rituals. He wanted the old man to come to a conclusion of his own devise.
"I'm sure there are a few," replied Dumbledore. "Do you have an idea of any specific types of ritual? Perhaps I can help narrow it down for you, if you have some clues."
"Blood of an enemy?" asked Croaker.
Dumbledore froze in place. He stared back at Croaker with more intensity than he had on the first day he was in Unspeakable custody. "Do you believe such a ritual was used?" He asked.
"I'm asking the questions, remember," said Croaker, employing his own intensity. "What ritual do you know of that uses that specific component?"
Dumbledore stared back for a moment, even ignoring his headache and replied, "I do not know of one that Grindelwald would ever have used for himself."
"But you know of one," said Croaker. "Which one?"
Dumbledore shook his head and replied, "It's not germane to what―"
That's when the Legilimens attacked again.
Croaker allowed it to go on for about ten seconds before he flicked his finger for it to stop.
As Dumbledore sat slumped forward and gasping in pain, Croaker firmly said, "Why do you continually push me to the point where you piss me off, Albus? I remind you, over and over again, that you have no power here and, yet, you still push back.
"Has it slipped your feeble mind we've been here for months? Has it slipped your once great intellect we've been interrogating you and, later, obliviating you? I already have the answers to a lot of my questions, Albus. Some of the questions I'm asking you are only for the sake of clarification.
"So, once again, old man: I ask the questions; you answer them. I know damned well my boys and girls have not been removing those instructions from your mind. They're very well trained."
Croaker let that percolate through the old man's mind, but knew it would take a little while due to his headache.
Finally, he demanded, "Now, what is the purpose of the ritual that uses blood of the enemy?"
Dumbledore gasped for a few long moments more before, still with his head bowed, he replied, "It's for... a resurrection ritual. That's why... I know... Gellert never... used it.
"Resurrection, in what form?" demanded Croaker. "New born?"
"No," muttered Dumbledore. "It will... resurrect the one... who is the enemy of... Har- the one... whose blood is needed."
"Could the dark wizard known as Voldemort use it?"
"Yes..."
"How long have you known that?"
"Ahhh... I don't..." Red glow. "I-I think... two, maybe three, years."
"So," said Croaker, "You've known for two to three years of a way the one known as the Dark Lord Voldemort could be resurrected?"
"Nnn―" Red glow. "Yes!"
"And who did you tell?" demanded Croaker. "After all, if you found a way Voldemort could be resurrected, so could his minions."
"N-no one," gasped the old man. "T-tooo... dangerous."
"YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME!" Croaker suddenly and shockingly roared.
The sheer volume had Dumbledore, whose head was still throbbing, physically cringe in agony. "P-pleeease don't shout."
"You deserve it, you self-serving, sanctimonious, old fool," Croaker growled right back. "Do you have any real idea of what you've done?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
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